The Vacant Pillow
by piratequeen24
Summary: Coping with the emptiness has been hard, and Kisuke has had almost all he can stand. Urahara/Ichigo
1. The Vacant Pillow

_A/N: Finally decided to just post this, since I've been sitting on it for quite a while. It's a two-part story, and the second chapter will be up soon._

XxXxXxXxX

Staring at the empty half of my bed, the bare pillow echoes the gaping hole in my heart.

I know why he left, I know it wasn't easy. It's what I don't know that haunts my every waking moment.

And my sleeping ones.

Questions run rampant through my mind unhindered, planting dangerous seeds. Is he going to come back? My instincts all say no, and yet…

For too long I took the simplest of things for granted. The sound of his breathing in the morning when I woke up now haunts the 6 am silence. The phantom feeling of gentle shifting of the mattress, just as when he would turn over at night in the middle of a dream, startles me from my slumber in a jolt.

I've been like this for months.

I spend at least an hour every morning lying in bed, unmotivated to start me day. Staring at the vacant space next to me that used to be occupied by my lover, I can feel its resonant emptiness like it's inside me. The unmarred pillowcase where his unruly hair would bring a smile to my face, without fail, every morning is now hauntingly white.

Now, the un-mussed sheets just taunt me, a stark reminder of the thing I want most in my life.

The thing that isn't here.

I sighed and rolled over, finally crawling out of bed. As my feet hit the cold wood floor shivers struck, darting up my legs and leaving goose bumps in their wake. It felt strangely good, and I flexed my toes on the floor as I mulled over the sensation. These little moments were all that was left, reminding me that I was not quite as numb to the world as I was beginning to believe.

My shower was always scorching hot, as if it could wash away both my lingering dreams and the emptiness that barren pillow left daily. It's hard to wash away things that exist on your insides though, and I'm pretty sure the only thing my morning showers actually did was rinse away the grime. My skin was often left almost tender from my less-than-gentle scrubbing. Showers left my feelings, emotions, and memories all obstinately intact, despite my desire to cleanse myself of them.

I shouldn't look so clean and whole on the outside when on the inside I was slowly falling apart.

The man in the mirror was a relentless mockery of the truth.

XxXxXxXxX

I'd been known to bury myself in work when things changed, to seek shelter in the familiar walls of my research. A comfort zone of my own inventions, it was literally a space of my own making, and I made my way to my lab every morning to keep the careful façade intact.

Every day I continued to do my work, pursuing the answers to research questions I'd thought up months ago or dreamed up that night, but I'd lost the inspiration in my work. I couldn't reach into the part of me where my enthusiasm was supposed to reside, because the gaping hole was consuming too much space within my mind.

It was like I'd subconsciously sealed off hopeful and happy feelings, afraid to reopen myself to the world around me. Having felt the harsh reality of betrayal before, of having the world I knew turn its back on me, I went into survival mode. I donned a smokescreen of a smile for the world, hiding behind my characteristic cheekiness and wit that now required all of my daily emotional energy to uphold.

Where once I would have spent the night in my lab when I was restless, I now couldn't work up the motivation to go in there after the sun went down. On nights when I couldn't sleep, which happened more often as the days passed, I generally made myself some tea and went to sit on the porch while I waited for mental fatigue and emotional exhaustion to drive me to sleep.

Subconsciously, though, I think I was waiting for him to come back to me.

Many nights had passed, proving the futility of that fruitless hope, but it had become an engrained routine anyway. In the meantime, I'd taken to admiring the brilliance of the night sky.

I don't think I'd ever taken enough time to consider the sky. Even the completely overcast cloudy sky held so much pattern and texture, I found myself consumed by complexity. The starry nights were even more baffling, presenting an unknown beyond full of more questions and fewer answers.

I knew it was just a diversion, but I focused on any welcome, waking distraction to drive away the thoughts that always came back to me the minute I crawled into bed.

XxXxXxXxX

It feels wrong, strange, to spend so much time alone. I'd gotten so used to the presence of the younger man that his absence was a fracture in my life even now. It's like the wall that I built to protect myself from other people had slowly begun to crumble without my notice, only to truly collapse after his departure.

He was so young that the immediate intensity of our relationship had scared him. He tried to assure me the day he'd left that he wasn't unhappy, just confused. That he wasn't even sure if he even liked guys, that he wasn't sure enough of who he was yet to commit himself fully to another person.

Either I'm old and out of touch, or was simply more desperate for company than him, because the thought had never even crossed my mind when we'd started down our mutual path.

It was my own fault it happened though, I'm not stupid enough to pretend it wasn't. It wasn't pure coincidence that mere days after I said I loved him that things had gone wrong.

I am well aware that my brain seldom stops; my endless observation and evaluation has always been both my strength and my weakness. In this case, I'd realized that love was the only logical reason for my behavior shift. It doesn't sound terribly romantic like that, but it was. It was like he'd left a giant piece of himself inside me, buried so deep that I couldn't remove it without damaging a part of myself. With a realization of that magnitude, it made little sense for me to keep it to myself.

Hindsight is a bitch.

I should have known it would be too much, too fast for someone who has been around for barely two decades.

I was, am, too much. I am complicated and overwhelming, and have never led my life down a straight a predictable path. I presented a giant unknown, and I should have known better than to push someone who is so determined to be in control.

He hadn't said as much in response at the time, or at least he'd tried to soften the edges of his reaction, but I understood the reality. I had pushed, too hard and too fast, and he had fled.

And now, I faced the reality of a seemingly endless series of days without him.

XxXxXxXxX


	2. The Dream-like Haze

XxXxXxXxX

It was almost 4 months later that someone said his name in my presence, which I shouldn't have known except that I couldn't escape my hyperawareness of him.

Yoruichi had visited him at his request, wherever he was, and I couldn't help the surge of jealousy when she told me. She never told me what it was about, but I was hurt that he'd gone to her for anything instead of me, hurt that he didn't trust himself around me.

Or maybe he didn't trust me around him.

Either way, the knowledge burned.

I knew that Yoruichi wasn't sure how to handle this side of me, the side of me she's vastly unfamiliar with. Even so, I couldn't fool her with my mockery of an attempt at contentment. The first fake smile I'd given her had led to a rather painful kick in the face, and she'd followed the kick up with a reminder to never pretend around her. So I'd nodded and changed the subject, snapping open my security blanket of a fan to prevent unsightly emotions from becoming any more public then her pointed observation had revealed.

By mentioning Ichigo she'd meant to comfort me, to remind me that he was doing exactly what he said he would be doing- trying to figure himself out. I'm sure she wanted to let me know that he didn't run off just to get away from me.

It certainly felt like he had run away from me though.

If he wasn't running, then why did he have to leave? Surely I'm a reliable resource as he attempts to better understand himself and his own feelings- we could figure it out together. Relationships of all sorts were founded communication, and I'd thought we were strong enough to try.

I never voiced that particular opinion out loud, not even to him before he left, because it sounds desperate. Love makes me willing to do or say almost anything to keep him around, and that would have been as apparent to him as it is to me. I might be desperate for him, but I am not controlling. Controlling him would stifle some of the things I love about him most, so I had resisted the urge to convince him to stay.

Instead, I asked. Just once, and with a deliberate calm, I said, "Please".

He'd said no.

And that night, as I watched him walk away, I told myself that I would wait for him to figure himself out. I didn't want to pressure him, I didn't want to damage his pride or throw away my own.

It was all so unnecessary, the pain I was inflicting on myself. I know why he left.

I just wanted him to trust in me as much as I trusted him… and I felt foolish for thinking he already had.

XxXxXxXxX

I spent nearly every moment wondering what he was up to, the week after Yoruichi mentioned him, and suffered the piercing reminder that I had promised to wait.

I had to believe that when he is ready, he will come back. That either way, he would come back at least for closure.

But part of me, somewhere deep down, knows why he hasn't come back yet. He's sparing my feelings. He knows I love him, and he know that having to see him and then let him go again might kill me. However, he knows that hope can truly be the greatest of all evils. Hope often leads to despair, and he's felt that enough to know the torture it brings.

Fighting my internal battle, I have become wrapped up in this new reality: Life without the man I love. Whenever I catch myself daydreaming in my lab, the moments that are slowly becoming fewer and farer between, I just take a deep breath and try to re-focus my attention.

And eventually, if I try hard enough, I can breathe without feeling like there's a giant vacant space in my chest that might never be filled.

And yet, the empty pillow still haunts me every night, and every morning.

At some point, I started sleeping facing the other direction, since I couldn't bring myself to remove the now unused pillow from the bed entirely.

I am trying to heal.

XxXxXxXxX

I woke up in an early morning haze, brain still foggy still with the shadow of a dream not yet forgotten. Standing to go take my shower, I resolutely ignored the pillow opposite mine on the bed out of an established ritual designed to maintain the last shreds of my sanity.

My showers were less scorching than they were 6 months ago, but the steam still managed to eliminate any hope of using the mirror when I get out. I dried my hair methodically, moving slowly though the morning routine that I'd perfected to put off any emotional outburst until I'd at least had something to eat for the day. I haphazardly wrapped my towel around my waist to plod over to my closet to get dressed.

Breeching the entrance to my bedroom for this first time since pulling myself from bed in a sleep-filled daze, I was brought abruptly to a halt. Unmoving, I was frozen as goose bumps rose on my arms in tortured horror.

My mind continued to torment me.

There, in that half of the bed that I'd spent months trying both to ignore and never touch, was that patch of orange hair. The ruffled hair was attached to a leanly muscled, pale body wrapped in sheets. I could see pajama pants peeking out through the tangle of sheets at the foot of the bed, where exposed feet protruded from the mass of white bedding.

My sharp intake of air disturbed the strangely peaceful silence in the room, and I was forced to close my eyes for long minutes as I focused on my breathing to regain control- and some moderation of sanity. I knew that this lingering dream would end, and that my eyes were deceiving me. That brilliant orange hair would be absent again from my pillow, from my room, and from my life, as it has been for near on a year.

When I reopened my reluctant eyes to face the truth, Ichigo was sitting up against the headboard, watching me with strangely resolute eyes.

The silence stretched, and I was afraid to break it. I couldn't imagine why he was there, in my bed, and how I hadn't noticed. How had my reality slipped so far away from me that I could assume he was a dream? But how could I not assume he was a dream, after so long? He couldn't be real.

It was torture, it was agony, and it was bliss.

My eyes began to devour everything they could see: the sharp features of his face, that same disheveled hair, and the sculpted yet lean torso that was exposed above the sheets that pooled about his waist. It had to be my brain projecting my desires onto my bed, and into reality. I couldn't imagine that, after near on a year of me trying and failing to move on, that he would come back to me now.

I watched his mouth move, and then realized that I'd been so busy staring that I had actually missed the first words he'd spoken to me in interminable days. I stared at him, shaking my head slightly as if to clear it, and his lips lifted into my favorite, arrogant smile. I noted that it was a restrained, small version that hinted at tentative anticipation of his welcome.

"Did you miss me?"

The question was so idiotic that it was followed with silence as I tried to formulate the correct response. I am not known for being particularly dense, and never for being slow to pick up on all the pieces of information around me, but surely he couldn't be serious. And yet, I saw a strange sort of weakness in his eyes that left me confused.

I gave a wordless shrug, unable to articulate what I was thinking without scaring him away again. I didn't trust this strange reality to last, and I was hesitant to say the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry I left." He whispered, his voice drifting over to me in a soft, almost pleading tone I had seldom heard from him. "I wish I hadn't, but I really did need some time." He paused again, watching my face carefully for something, probably some sort of clue. I imagine all he saw was disbelief and shock, because he continued, "The only question I have for you now is, am I welcome here anymore?"

That, too, struck me as absurd. My lips twitched, I let out a small laugh, and finally found words.

"You slip into my bed sometime during the night, sleep with me there, and then you ask if you are welcome?" Sure, not the most romantic sentiment, but it was truly laughable that he had made such a bold move, and yet remained unsure. It was just like him.

His face flashed with surprise, and then his embarrassment melted into another of my favorite smiles, this one was soft, sheepish even. It made me knees weak.

"I suppose I did, yeah." He tossed the sheets off to stand, and my eyes couldn't help but move down to his loose pajama pants riding low on his hips as I catalogued the rest of him. So much the same, and yet everything felt different. His gaze had regained some of the resolve I'd seen a glimmer of prior, "Does that mean that yes, I'm welcome?"

"It means you should have just stayed in the first place if you were going to come back." I tried to sound teasing, but it came out more like an exhausted sigh, as my emotions running in a wild circle of confusion. I wanted him, I loved him, but I couldn't do that again. I wouldn't go that long wondering again, I couldn't, even for him. I shook my head, trying to clear it, "You're back? For good?"

Ichigo smiled more fully, and then walked all the way over to where I was still standing, rooted firmly in the doorway to my bathroom. When he got close enough to reach, his hand drifted up to my face, brushing a wet strand of blonde hair back and out of my eyes, tracing a finger gently across my cheekbone.

"I love you, Urahara Kisuke." I closed my eyes to resist the urge to grab him and toss him back onto the bed. I had to be dreaming, this definitely wasn't real. "I don't want to spend another minute without you. I left because I was running away from this. The emotions and instincts and… habits that were beginning to develop all came so fast. We'd been dating such a short time, all of it seemed so soon… too soon." He paused, silent for the moment, and I opened my eyes. His looked torn with uncertainty, but thoughtful as his gaze met mine. "You're so much older, it's intimidating how many more life experiences you've had. And then, I decided I don't care. I love you."

"Sure, end a statement with 'I love you' when it starts with 'You're so much older'." Relief was like a giant wave, washing through me, cleansing. Ichigo's very presence filled the gaping hole in my chest that his absence had caused, leaving but a shadow of the emptiness that had been in its wake. The relief cleared my mind of the last lingering fog, leaving brilliant clarity in its wake. "Just because I'm older doesn't mean that I've done this before you know, it was new to me too."

Ichigo rolled back on his heels to get a better look at my face, hands in his pajama pockets, and when our eyes met I felt time melt away. I couldn't fight the urge to touch him, and so I didn't fight the urge my hands felt to reach up and touch his lips lightly. They lingered only for a moment, and I marveled at the texture before they slid down his neck. Slowly, causing a slight shiver that resonated so strongly in him that I couldn't help a mirroring tremor, until my rested a hand on Ichigo's hard chest, just above his heart.

I watched in fascination as his muscles tensed and released in response and, when I finally dragged my gaze back up to his face, his eyes were closed in what could only be aching. I let my hand slide over his nipple, which tightened at my touch, and I felt his sharp inhalation as it caused his chest to move under my hand. I let my hand drift a little lower, fingers lightly dusting across his firm stomach, as if I was still afraid that he might disappear.

I knew an opportunity when I saw it, and I wasn't about to miss this one.

I moved my lips to his, closing that last breath of space and moving my hands down to high sides. He remained frozen at the first, soft touch, and then he shuddered and melted into me. His arms rose to the back of my neck and mine slid around his back, and we melted together like opposite sides of the same coin.

It was paradise.

Ichigo was home, and Ichigo was my home. The when and how of it were unimportant, I could move beyond it if he was mutually invested in making things work going forward.

All that truly mattered to me was that he seemed to be the one, true kindred spirit of my own, and that I was lost to him.

Utterly and completely lost.

XxXxXxXxX

A/N: Weeeeee, I'm done! Hope you guys liked it - Please review and let me know your thoughts :)


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